“Aly doesn’t like him,” Nawat pointed out. “Aly thinks he will come back and try to eat the nestlings.”
Aly grinned at the crow-man and looked at the two raka. “So lovely of you to pay a call,” she told them. “I wish you’d sent your messenger ahead, so I might have prepared refreshments.”
“You will have your jokes,” replied Ulasim. He looked like a bronze raka idol in the saddle. “Mount up. We go to Pohon. My mother has agreed to meet us—that is, you. It’s going to be a long morning.”
Junai revealed the thinnest scrap of a smile, the first sign of any emotion Aly had ever seen on her face. “You have no idea how long,” she said.
Aly raised an eyebrow at her bodyguard. “Your grandmother’s that charming, is she?”
“Come see for yourself,” Ulasim said. He looked at Nawat, who was idly picking insects from a tree’s bark and eating them. “Your presence will not help. I told you so back at Tanair.”
Nawat bird-shrugged. “Mages do not worry me.”
Aly clumsily mounted Cinnamon.
“There is no need to keep doing that,” Ulasim told her wearily. “Lokeij says you can ride well.”
“Then keep that to yourselves,” Aly retorted. “It suits me that our associates not be aware of all my skills.” To Nawat she said, “You were scarred by a mage once. Shouldn’t that make you wary?”
He cracked a beetle between his teeth. “It was the Pohon mage who did it,” he said. “She makes funny noises when her sheets are in the mud.” He looked up at Aly. “The red ants are spicy. Would you like one?” He offered her an ant with his normal cheerful smile, but the look in his eyes was that of the human male she’d seen the night he had kissed her.
Horrified, Aly realized she was blushing. She never blushed. “I thank you, no,” she replied, turning Cinnamon. To the two raka she said, “Let’s go, then. Visda, Ekit, I’m sorry, but the goats—”
“We are ready,” Visda said with a grin. “Have fun with the mage.”
Aly followed Ulasim and Junai to the road. “This mage,” she asked the raka, “she’s decided she will join you?”
Ulasim snorted. Today he dressed as a raka in a homespun wraparound jacket, embroidered in dark colors, and a highland raka’s leggings. His long hair was tied back in a horsetail. “She has only said she will talk to you, and I wouldn’t put it beyond her to change her mind. Do you know how annoying it is that you can do that?” he asked Nawat, who trotted along next to them, his bare feet scarcely making a sound on the dirt road.
“I am running.” Nawat’s voice was as relaxed as if he sat on his workbench, fletching arrows. “It is not as good as flying, but it is exercise.”
“Yes, but—does he bother you?” Aly asked the two raka. To Nawat she explained, “I don’t want to make any raka uncomfortable, you see, and maybe you would.”
“We are cousins,” said both Nawat and Junai. They halted and stared at one another. Both looked startled and pleased.
Finally Junai said, “Everyone knows what he was. And crows and raka are both the children of the crow god and goddess. Our legend says the first humans were hatched out of the great crow nest. We made a mistake in the egg and shed our feathers.”
“Then there have been other crows who turned into people?” asked Aly. She couldn’t help but think that someone could have mentioned that earlier.
“Rarely,” said Ulasim. “But there are tales, just as there are tales of those raka who turned to crows rather than die. Do we stand here all day, or do we get on with things?” He sent his horse down the road. Aly and Junai followed, Nawat trotting along between the two women.
“Am I no longer the goatherd?” Aly wanted to know.
“Her Grace says you need to be able to move,” replied Ulasim. “Our ladies wish to ride far and meet their people. Her Grace wishes to spend more time at the castle, minding the younger children and preparing the household for winter. You are to bear Saraiyu and Dovasary company, with their bodyguards, and Junai.”
Aly nodded. That would work. As always, she was grateful to the duchess for seeing what was necessary. “Now, this mage is your mother?” she asked. “Junai’s grandmother Ochobu?”
“She hates luarin,” replied Junai as her father’s face went stony. “She has agreed to talk, not to help. That will be a matter for your persuasion, unless you intend to have the god command her.”
“If I were you, I would call on the god,” Ulasim informed Aly dryly. “She is sworn to him. She must obey. You? We will be lucky if she does not scorch you. But you insisted on seeing her, and she is a powerful mage, powerful enough to guard this entire plateau.”
Aly drew herself up in the saddle, miffed. She was the daughter of George Cooper and the Lioness, after all. It was a pretty sad thing if she had to depend on a god to step in whenever a little diplomacy would do the trick. “Have we brought presents for her? Sometimes a properly offered gift appeases even the most stubborn people.”
“It would not appease her,” Ulasim replied, grim-faced. “She is a cross-grained, bitter, cruel old hermit.”
“She says the sweetest things of you, too,” said Junai. “I think you are both too proud to apologize, Father.” To Aly she said, “He’s right about a gift, though. Grandmother would only make it explode in your hands.”
“Here,” said Nawat, reaching a hand to Aly. “She might like this.” He passed her something hard.
Aly looked at the thing he’d given her. It was a rock, some kind of granite, bright and sparkling in the sun. “Nawat,” she asked wearily, “why have you given me a stone?”
“It is sparkly,” Nawat informed her gravely. “Females like sparkly things, just as crows do.”
Junai made a noise that sounded very like a snort to Aly.
Aly sighed. She ought to have known that his reason didn’t make sense to her in the least. “Not human females, Nawat.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Ulasim told her in a choked voice that sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. “Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, all of those things sparkle, and human females love gems.”
Aly shot the footman a look that said, Don’t confuse him! She tucked the rock into her belt purse. “I’ll explain later,” she told Nawat, who watched her with worried eyes. “Thank you for trying to help me.”
When they rode around the walls that encircled Pohon, Aly relaxed. She was not sure the villagers had forgotten her last visit. Instead Ulasim and Junai led her and Nawat deeper into the forest, following a narrow road. They passed into the lands behind the village, riding under tall, ancient trees alive with birds and squirrels. It was a perfect summer day, not too hot even on the open road, with gentle breezes carrying the scents of pine and leaves to Aly’s nose.
At last they reached the top of a ridge that looked down into a small, cuplike hollow. At its bottom was a rough log house, hung about with charms, signs, and wind chimes. A creek raced past it, shaped with stone by human hands to form a deep pool before it reentered the trees. A line of drying clothes hung in the sunshine behind the house, a homely touch for a mage’s domain. A pair of cats lounged in front of the door, watching them with eyes turned amber by the sun.
Nawat grinned. “It’s washing day,” he observed.
Aly frowned at him. “Leave the wash alone. You’re not a crow anymore.”
“No,” he replied. “I am a mateless human.” He sighed, trying to look forlorn.
“Stop that,” Aly warned. She kneed Cinnamon down the path toward the cottage. Halting in front, she and her companions dismounted.
A tiny creature flew over to sniff Aly. She sighed in wonder. It was a miniature flying horse, a bay mare, bat-winged and perfect, its body no larger than her hand. “Where did you come from?” she asked softly.
“They nest here,” replied Ulasim as other winged horses flapped around them. A piebald stallion glided over to Nawat. “The old woman puts up with any nonsense if it doesn’t come from a human being,” the raka continued bitte
rly. “Sometimes I think—”
He was interrupted by the piebald stallion. The tiny creature reared and neighed, pawing the air in fury.
“Maybe he remembers me,” Nawat remarked. The stallion flew at him, hitting him in the face with his wings. “Stop it! My mother had nestlings of her own to feed!”
“You took one of their nestlings?” asked Aly, horrified.
“Several,” replied Nawat, trying to shield his face. Two more winged horses flew in to attack him. “They make a very—ouch!—good meal for hungry young!”
“Why did you come if you made an enemy of the little kudarung?” Ulasim wanted to know. He and Junai backed off, leading their mounts away from the small winged creatures. “Is there anyone hereabouts who likes you?”
Nawat yelped as four more winged horses swooped at him from a clump of bushes, where they seemed to gather. Aly giggled as they dove at him, kicking, biting, pulling his hair and clothes, smacking him with their wings. “I thought they wouldn’t remember!” he cried in answer to Ulasim. “It’s been weeks, and I was a crow!”
Aly dismounted and handed her reins to Junai, then ran laughing to Nawat’s rescue. “Stop that,” she ordered as more of the small winged horses swarmed out of the brush. “He isn’t a crow anymore.” She gently tried to bat them away from Nawat. “How did you even recognize him? He’s not here to take nestlings.” She grabbed the piebald stallion as he tried to nip at Nawat’s face. “He’s quite a reformed—ow!” The tiny stallion twisted in her grip and fastened his teeth in one of her fingers, drawing blood. Aly dropped him. The stallion flew at her face. Aly squeaked and ducked.
More of the winged horses appeared in answer to their fellows’ enraged calls. Half of them descended on Aly, the rest on Nawat.
“I think they believe you are a crow, too,” Junai called as the still-amused Aly protected her head with her hands. The creatures bit her hands and gouged her head with hooves and teeth, battering her with their wings.
“Will you help us instead of gawping?” demanded Aly, trying not to laugh. She didn’t want to hurt the tiny immortals, but their assaults were painful, and she had business here. She could hardly impress Ochobu Dodeka if she was too busy fighting off winged pests with long memories.
“But it’s the most amusing thing I’ve seen all year,” Ulasim replied in a strangled voice. Speaking appeared to destroy his control; he collapsed in laughter. Junai simply watched, a tiny smile on her usually still face.
Aly flapped her open hands, trying to push the small kudarung away. Nawat covered his head with his arms. “They’re clever, aren’t they?” he asked Aly, wincing. “To know I’m a crow even in this shape.”
“I don’t care how clever they are,” Aly replied. She yelped as a kudarung bit the rim of her ear. Grabbing the animal, she tried to tug it free, but it refused to let go. Not wanting to hurt it or tear her ear, she had one course of action left to her. She ran for the stream, and dove into the part that had been shaped to form a deep pool.
The water, coming from the mountains, was bone-achingly cold even on this summer day. She lunged to the surface and gasped, her teeth chattering. Water sprayed all over her as Nawat jumped in, shedding kudarung as they saw where he was bound.
Aly swam to the edge of the pool. She was about to climb out onto the land when a small flock of kudarung attacked, driving her underwater. She found Nawat there, forced under the surface as she had been to escape their tormentors. They shot up for a deep breath of air before the immortals descended. On her next trip for air, Aly looked around quickly. There, on the bank near the shallow upper stream, she saw a likely weapon. She ducked underwater and swam toward it, her head aching from the chill and the kudarungs’ assault. When she came up again, the large branch was a yard away. She lunged and seized it, wading into the shallow water above the pool. There she stood, batting her persecutors away with the branch.
Nawat joined her, to huddle at her side. “They are not very forgiving,” he observed.
Aly lifted a foot and shoved him back into the pool.
Above the shrill, furious calls of the kudarung she heard laughter as harsh as any crow’s bawl. She turned to find its source and saw an old woman barely five feet tall. The newcomer was dressed like the highland raka women in a bright wraparound jacket and long skirt, both thickly embroidered. The fire of a magical Gift shone from beneath her skin in Aly’s Sight. The old woman had a long nose, eyes like upside-down crescents framed by wrinkled flesh, and a mouth as straight as Junai’s. White locks combed to either side sprang from her hairline at the center of her forehead. The rest of her short, curling hair was the color of steel shot with threads of black and white. Her laughter had a jeering quality.
“Ochobu Dodeka, is this how you treat your guests?” Aly demanded, swinging her branch at the kudarung. “We’re here to talk to you. Call these things off before I hurt one!”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” the old woman replied with a grin that showed teeth. “And they aren’t pets, to come and go at my command.” She looked at Junai and Ulasim. “This is the god’s messenger?” she demanded, her black eyes snapping with scorn. “If you’re listening to this luarin sisat, you haven’t a prayer of success. I won’t go with you to die!”
Aly sighed. It was time to work. She handed the branch to Nawat, who was climbing out of the pool. When he took it, Aly went to Ochobu. The kudarung who had concentrated on swarming Aly turned to continue their attack on Nawat.
“Am I mistaken?” Aly inquired mildly, leaning her head to clear water from one ear. “You’re refusing to help us.”
“If they are helped by such as you, they are beyond hope,” retorted the old raka. “They would do better to take the road as roaming Players, amusing the luarin nobility.”
Aly leaned her head to the other side to clear the water from that ear. In her politest tone she inquired, “So you must approve the work roster, before you will deign to help? Must the ones who risk their lives among the luarin every day bring each and every tool they choose for your inspection first?”
Ochobu scowled at Aly. “No one asked you.”
Aly dug in her ear with a finger. “Your god asked me, Ochobu Dodeka,” she replied, still polite, knowing that the old woman expected her to show rage. “And do you know what? It will be for nothing,” she informed the raka with her friendliest smile. “Because as long as you and others like you find only obstacles, you can put off actually having to do something. You can just talk about it and dream of someday. We’ll all die of old age. You raka will still have the luarin boot on your necks. After a while, raka won’t mean ‘people’ anymore—it will just mean ‘slave.’”
“I could blast you where you stand,” Ochobu whispered, her eyes deadly.
Aly wrung out her tunic’s hem. “Go on,” she said cheerily. “Do your worst. Of course, the god might object.” She gave Ochobu a moment to think and then another moment to act. When it was clear the raka mage was not going to kill her, Aly called, “Nawat, stop playing with the little horsies. We’re going back to Tanair.”
“I would gladly stop playing with them,” Nawat called, swinging his branch around him to keep the kudarung at bay. “They are the ones who will not stop.”
Ochobu looked over Aly’s shoulder, pushing her lips in and out, as if she were thinking. Aly concentrated on wringing out as much of her tunic as she could reach. Finally Ochobu bared her teeth and whistled sharply. A handful of kudarung flew away from the swarm. The old woman whistled twice more before the rest broke off their assault and returned to their clump of brush.
Ochobu looked at Ulasim and Junai. “Did the pesky crow have to come?” she demanded.
Aly smiled graciously. “I like the crow.”
The old woman looked at Aly, then at Nawat. “Stay away from my drying lines,” she warned.
Nawat treated her to his beaming smile. “I am a man now. Men do not drag cloth in the mud.”
The mage snorted, then looked Aly over. “Were
you any other god’s messenger, I wouldn’t believe you,” she said drily as Ulasim and Junai led the horses across the creek. “But our god would pick a luarin.”
“You choose tools for a task by their crafting, not their look,” a crow said crisply from a nearby tree. He flapped over to land on a barrel in front of the cottage. “A smith’s finest hammer will be streaked with soot.” Like the Kyprioth-crow of Aly’s first Isles dream, he wore gem-studded rings on his talons and a gaudy jeweled necklace around his throat. He shone in Aly’s Sight.
“So you really chose this wench,” Ochobu said.
Kyprioth ruffled his feathers. “Stop trying to quarrel with me, or I will leave you to the Rajmuat luarin. Do you think Oron was bad? He will be as nothing compared to Hazarin, Imajane, Rubinyan, and Bronau, believe me. If we’re to change things, it must be now. The Chain’s time has come.”
Aly frowned. “What’s the Chain?” she asked.
Kyprioth turned a ring on one claw with his beak. It was Ulasim who answered. “My mother and her friends,” he said, meeting the old woman’s eyes with defiance. “A network of raka mages, spread throughout the Isles, waiting to take back what was theirs.”
“You said it might not be so,” Ochobu remarked wearily to Kyprioth. “You said we might fail.”
“Every human effort has that chance,” replied Kyprioth. “We gods can’t change that. Besides, it would be very bad for your characters if you had things easy all the time.”
“I told my children that. They didn’t believe me any more than I believe you.” Ochobu walked over to a bench next to her door and sat between the cats. “We wouldn’t be in this state if you had turned the invaders away three hundred years back.”
Kyprioth leaped off the barrel in crow form and landed on the ground as a man, in his human jewelry, jacket, and sarong. He stood before Ochobu, sparks in his dark eyes. Aly took a step back, feeling his presence as a pressure on her body and mind, like a heatless sun. Ulasim and Junai shaded their eyes as they looked on. Only Nawat seemed unconcerned. He squatted on the ground, dripping, as he ate selections from a column of ants.
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